Brace
by Thriving Willow
Summary: Neal's the bird in a cage. Really, working with the FBI is nothing compared to how he once lived. He truly does hate the stupid brace.
1. Chapter 1

It felt like a million pounds, like a heap of bricks strapped locked around the ankle, the key was thrown away. The second it was snapped on, Neal's heart panicked. _Trapped. Trapped. Trapped. _His heart objected fiercely. Such a little, minuscule piece of plastic—it consumed his whole world. It weighed Neal down like nothing else could. Neal couldn't even take a stroll down the street—something he'd done regularly before everything went south—without glancing down at his ankle.

The words "two miles" had never sounded uglier. They scraped at the insides of his ears, chasing him through his nightmares.

"Stop picking at that," Peter commented over his folder of papers.

Neal looked up but didn't stop rubbing his free shoe over the brace. "I hate it though," He smiled to keep Peter off his case. But his heart still picked up pace, his palms turning slick. He really did hate it. More than words would ever really be able to express.

Can't find Kate.

Can't roam the world.

Can't play my games.

Can't live like this.

_Trapped. Trapped. Trapped. _


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I really think he would if he could.

* * *

He swore it was burning through his skin. He would wake up at night, sweating, gasping, clawing at the brace. It would take him several minutes to realize that it was, in fact, not melting his skin off. It would take him another hour to fall back asleep. If he was lucky, anyways. But lately luck had avoided him like he was the devil. Albeit, Neal _was_ the devil, but still. Luck had to give in sometime, right?

Neal never thought he'd ever _regret _being so deviously cunning. But, for once in his life, Neal wished he could dump his brains off for a little while. Because every time he looked down, he saw a million ways he could ice the damn brace.

Melt it, Neal. Melt it and run. No, saw—sawing would be less dangerous. Hell, why not just grab some scissors and give it a good snip? Now, while Peter's out for coffee, Neal. It'll only take two seconds. He would even cut off his own foot. That way he could slap the cuff on a seagull and watch the FBI go on an airborne chase, destined for failure.

Neal smiled at the thought.

"Get that look off your face, Caffrey. It scares the hell outta' me," Peter knocked Neal's feet off the desk they were propped on as he walked by, coffee in hand.

Neal gave him a sarcastic drawl, "You got it, boss,"

One day, Neal. One day you get that cuff off and the world will never see you again. You just wait.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Nothing is mine. We should all take a moment of silence of gratitude for that fact.

One morning he woke up and knew something was very wrong. Off. He twisted out of his blankets, scanned the room, reaching for the little knife—his only knife—under his pillow. But his eyes found no immediate threat and Neal wasn't quite sure what had woke him up.

It took him several seconds to realize that it was the sun flickering in his eyes. He lost his edge, sagging into his blankets. He slid his knife back where it had been and straggled to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The sun. The sun woke him up. No nightmares. No panic over the stupid bracelet snagged around his ankle. He'd been exhausted when he'd gone to sleep—a late night talking to Peter and Elizabeth. Over what? Over nothing. Over what Elizabeth was planning. Mulling over the unofficial 'office party' someone wanted to throw. They'd talked over places Neal may or may not have been in his lifetime. Neal had stayed up half the night talking about trivial things that had little to no consequence.

Neal felt like he'd never slept better.

"You look cheery," June smiled from her table where she was stitching up a pair of his pants he'd ripped on a job.

He took a swig of his coffee while shoving the other arm through his coat sleeve. "Didn't I tell you? I won the lottery,"

June rolled her eyes, giving a small laugh. "Sure you did, honey. Don't forget your hat, now,"

Neal turned back and flipped his hat of the table and onto his head. "You're a lifesaver, June," He winked and twisted out the door, coffee still in hand.

"And don't you forget it!" She called after him.

Funny thing was, it was only when Neal's brace scraped against Peter's office chair that he remembered that it was there. He ignored the brace and finished his conversation with Jones.


End file.
